Intellectualisms

The swing of your hips,
The moon on your face,
The tip of your hat, 
The thrill of the chase.

The rhythm of night,
The cold light of day,
The nape of your neck,
A roll in the hay.

A maxim,
An axiom,

A proverb,
An aphorism.

We beat a dead horse,
With saying and adage,
And show now remorse,
For killed creativity; savage.

This is no romance,
In contrast to start,
But an ode to the death,
Of writing as art. 

Written Word Is Dead

Logical Conclusion

Symbolization – the language of the nation,
Hidden symmetry of logical argumentation,
Exclusive disjunction, separation function,
We will not both find nirvana.

It is not the case that, negativity format, 
Disinclined to acquiesce your request that, 
Boil citizens down in a pacifying thought vat,
-- An American fat vat
You are not free to do as you wanna

Logical musing, truth in confusion,
False premise lead to positive conclusion,
Incorporate knowledge, intellectual fusion,
Find the genuine, uncover illusion,
Life as run on sentence, no period, only comma. 

The problem with induction
Is deeper than you realize,
When the method scientific,
Is founded deep in real lies

Instead of saying ‘this is true’
One can only dee-nye
Cannot deduce from good results
Only fail to false-e-fye

Err0r pr0ne I must lament
Cannot assert the consequent
Logic wins, so no dissent !
With no true findings to present

On a path 
for confirmation,
Only finding 
corroboration.

I Can Corroborate That

The Philosopher

In the days of weighted doubt, 
We looked to the wood.
Hoped guidance might be lurking among the sturdy trunks,
Dug our heels into the dirt, 
Eyes closed, 
Face to the heavens, 
Rooting ourselves to the earth,
Spreading our circuitry of sensation far and wide, 
We formed ourselves in that place,
In that way, 
And that is where he found us. 

He came from the wood, 
The guidance we never knew we needed,
Could never truly live without.

His wisdom crept in slowly, 
Unthreatening, Unassuming, 
Almost unacknowledged,
Until it was too late.
An irreversible paradigm shift
To truth of which we were previously blind,
Cannot un-see, un-understand, un-recognize truth
Cannot run,
Cannot hide.
Is this now the good life?
Eudaimonia
Was truth our genuine desire?
It is irrelevant now
We have seen the light
And there is no path back to the darkness. 

False apology, 
Dishonest autobiography,
Do you claim to serve the gods?

If knowledge is power,
(in power lies danger)
Why put to death
My innocent stranger
For I have no knowledge
If you dare recall
Except for the knowledge
I have no knowledge at all

But hark now – conundrum
A crisis is risen
If acknowledged ignorance 
Exemplifies wisdom
Then holding false stance
Is a viable guise
To fall to a knowledgeable prison

So you dumb jurors
Convict if you must
Stone me or hang me
And turn me to dust

For I will not stop in my search for the truth
The less that I find, the wiser I am
For there’s no statement more knowledged than
I don’t understand

For the Love of Socrates

The Cranial King

Cranial King perched atop a throne of thwarted hope, 
Societal innovations permeate the least porous wall,
Seeping,
Creeping,
Unfleeting,
Stubborn schema tattooed on the mind,
Retches and riles against persistent threat of change,
Neural circuit of potential range,
But,
This is not a Theocracy,
Must find mental Democracy,
For the world hangs between the true conclusions. 

Perhaps the past will not repeat,
And futures possible abound.
Spilt milk will fall straight up,
And humans will walk head side down

Helium balloons would drop like rocks,
With uniform experience lack.
Eggs bounce,
Diamonds crack.
Oh nature’s rules we fierce desire back!

No justification for continued thought,
That natures rules plan to remain.
Speculate on philosophical ends,
Skeptical doubt til one’s insane.
Judge simple minds who worry not,
Who look not for true proof.
How can they live in calm resolve
When so much is aloof?

But though the ivory tower holds
Ideas, ideals, and skeptic doubt,
So far no truth has yet been found,
Yet view ones mind with intellectual clout.

But when the stomachs rumble loud,
The warning sign of hunger,
We close our minds, climb tower down,
To speculate no longer.

For though they doubt and search for truth,
From past concern or hunch,
Believe in external world or not,
All philosophers break for lunch.

Natural Control